A Perfect Mess

Prompt: It takes place after 7.10 so the level of angsty between Donna and Harvey is ? ﾟﾓﾈ, but there's a charity event and they have to dance together. Idk what could happen but I like the idea of angry Donna and Harvey glued to each other, with 1 inch between them. It could end with angry sex ? ﾟﾑﾀ

...

Donna flinches as Harvey's fingers dig into her side, his harsh grip probably not intending to hurt, but his shoulders are wired with tension as he moves them around the dancefloor, seeking to impress Walter—a wealthy and kind businessman, who values family above everything else. The message they're trying to send him that Specter Litt holds all the values he's looking for in a firm, although right now it doesn't feel like they're orientated toward anything, and when Harvey bangs her knee, she grits her teeth through a forced smile. "Would you relax?"

"I'm sorry, Donna," he snipes, growling under his breath. "I forgot you can't stand anyone else taking the lead."

The quip stings, and she sucks in sharply as their feet clash, wishing she could tear herself out of his arms and get the hell out of the ill-timed benefit. She made one mistake by kissing him, and has been paying for the decision ever since. But with Jessica's name coming down and businesses closing over the holiday season, they have to secure Walter's interest, and she squares her shoulders. She thought they'd seen the worst of each other when she went to work for Louis, but she was wrong. This is just as bad as him treating her like a stranger. He's snappy, letting harsh quips fly around the office, and she fights the moisture that's pricking her gaze. "That hasn't bothered you for the past twelve years," she fires back, heat flaring across her cheeks when he pulls her closer, demanding control, and proving he's capable of reducing every heart-felt moment between to nothing more than empty words. If he cared, he wouldn't have condemned her being confused, for acting on impulse, when for over a decade she's had to fight for the tiniest flicker of emotion from him. As far as she's concerned, Paula's welcome to his childish and immature lack of self-awareness.

"For the past twelve years you stayed out of my relationships." He steps back, gripping her hand and wrenching her around, catching her again with a scowl as he presses them back together. "You made me someone I never wanted to be." The once scrupulous moral he has is loyalty, and she's supposed to know that—know him, but she completely disregarded his issues with infidelity, put her needs above his, and he's livid, furious, because he can still taste her on his lips, feel the raging desire to have her coursing through his veins. She didn't just kiss him. She opened the floodgates, made him want her more than his own girlfriend, and every fear Paula was worried about came to fruition when he stood in front of his ex-therapist and ended their relationship. He hurt someone he cared about, and now he's here, putting on some ridiculous show for a client because he would rather be irate and holding Donna than home alone, miserable and wishing he was.

"We've done more than just kiss," she whispers forcefully, trying to claw their way back from the edge of the abyss he's dragging them towards. If he needs to hear it was a one time thing in order to save his relationship, then fine. What's one more sacrifice when she's already lost everything, anyway. "It doesn't have to mean anything."

"I'm human, Donna. Of course it means something." He clutches the fabric of her dress with a rough grip, not out of anger but in desperation. She can't turn around and say she felt nothing, not when she knocked his entire life in a different direction. Because he can't stop thinking about her lips, the teasing brush of her fingers threading through his hair, and how everything outside of her touch ceased to exist in that one sordid moment. He's been clinging onto his frustration because he's scared, terrified of her ability to render him powerless with one act, but when she jerks back, her eyes raw with hurt, it hits him—he's more afraid of losing her.

"Then let me make this easy for you," she snaps, not about to stand in his arms and be cheapened by his words. If he's so outraged by the idea of being physically attracted to her and nothing else, then he's not the man she thought he was. "I'll take care of Walter."

His heart hammers as she abandons him on the dancefloor and he watches, frozen in place as she makes good on her promise. Walter's eyes light up, meeting his own with a nod, and he's never felt more empty or hollow, his anger dissipating into waves of panic as Donna heads for the exit. She doesn't glance back, and that's one of the things he loves about her. She's fierce and confident, but also stubborn, and he's been here before—watching her walk away, but he's not going to make the same mistake of letting her go.

His legs move to follow her, pushing his way through the throes of people blocking his path, and he rushes out of the hall in time to see her collecting her coat from the cloakroom. He doesn't bother grabbing his own jacket, just a few steps behind her, as she enters the revolving door leading outside into the downpour that was just a light mist when they arrived.

The rain doesn't slow her and he flinches. "Goddamn, stubborn," he grumbles to himself, catching the banister to stop from slipping on the icy stairs as he shouts out to her. "You don't get to decide everything, Donna. I get a say in this!"

His voice startles her, and she turns, throwing her wet hair back as he lands on the pavement beside her. She does get to decide because he doesn't have the balls to say what he actually feels, and they both know it. "A say in what?" she challenges, charged and ready to call him out. "You don't want more. I got the message loud and clear."

He stands staring at her, and she mentally scolds herself for thinking there was the smallest chance she might be wrong. "Goodnight, Harvey."

He catches her arm before she can storm off again, tugging her back and pushing his mouth over her cold, frozen lips. Never in all their bullshit arguments has he ever explicitly stated he doesn't want more. Maybe he implied that was the case, but now he's un-implying it—his body flooding with a heat that could rival any storm.

She startles beneath the kiss, taking a full moment to register his hands moving in a flurry, scrunching her wet coat, and dragging over the bulky layer. She groans at the contact until reality slams her hard. He was livid about her kiss, distraught she made him cheat, and she shoves his soaked chest, her question a harsh gasp. "What about—"

"Over." He's kept the break-up to himself for long enough, and his eyes burn a hole through her wide gaze. "I couldn't stay with her. Not after…"

He doesn't finish, and she blinks through the rain pouring down, guilt mixing with her confusion. He broke up with Paula, but instead of talking to her about the decision, he sulked for days, put her through hell, and her nostrils flare as she grabs his hand, dragging him towards the row of parked taxis.

He stumbles after her, his jaw wired shut as they pile into the nearest cab, her voice is clipped as she tells the driver her address, and he isn't sure what's happening—if he's supposed to give his own, but he doesn't, drawing a weird sense of assurance from the tight grip she has clenched around his throbbing fingers. She's angry, and he's not thrilled either, freezing and uncomfortable, and again, he's getting no say in the matter. No clue if she's taking him home to scold him or put out the desire that's raging through his body like wildfire.

When they arrive at her place, he feels a jolt of uncertainty as she lets go of his hand, but he reaches for his wallet to clarify he's going with her. She slams the door closed, and he rolls his eyes, paying the man and climbing out, racing through the rain to catch up with her.

She shakes the water from her hair as she enters the lobby, turning to meet his embittered expression. God, they're a mess—two people trapped in each other's orbit, who love each other, and can't get anything right, but she doesn't care. Things are rarely ever perfect. Life is confusing and complicated, and he makes her crazy, but he also makes her happy, and she takes a step back, her eyes daring him to follow.

He breathes out the air trapped inside his chest, his feet kicking forward, and his hands latch around her waist as he boldly kisses her, the momentum pushing them in a whirlwind toward the elevator where he fumbles to hit the button.

His mouth is hot and heavy on her neck as she pulls him through opening doors, slamming her hip against the rail and biting down hard as her palm hits the panel, selecting multiple floors by accident. She groans at the slip, but he swallows the sound with a smug grin, sucking on her lower lip, and screw it. She doesn't care if the entire building sees, her fingers eagerly tugging his wet shirt free from his waistband, raking her nails up over the ridges of his stomach. By the time they arrive at the right level, she already has half the fabric unbuttoned, annoyed when he grasps her wrist to drag her out of the cart.

In a frenzy, she rips the clutch off her shoulder, searching for keys as his large hands guide her, his feverish kisses making her knees weak and stealing her concentration. He backs her against the door, and she manages to jingle out the ring of metal, letting him take over the task of getting them inside. The weight behind her disappears suddenly, and she nearly trips over herself, but he catches her, the keys and her clutch landing on the floor as he sweeps her up, dropping her on the nearest table.

It jostles, several things clattering off, but his focus is on her coat, pushing the heavy material off her shoulders and clenching the damp silk hugging her curves. She throws off his bowtie and blazer, her nails scorching a hot trail down his open shirt, and fuck—he's hard, throbbing as he presses his aching groin between her legs. Her heel digs into his calf, demanding him closer, and he buries his head, nipping the hollow of her throat and soothing the mark with soft lashes of his tongue, but the punishment only spurs her on. She's relentless as she grinds against him, a goddam tease—tormenting him for twelve years, and he wrenches his hand under her dress, cupping her cheeks apart, and slipping his fingers inside her panties to spread her soaked folds. She breathes a cry into his shoulder as he tugs down the lace, keeping her legs separated with his knee but doesn't land his attention there, squeezing and groping her breasts, her sides—everywhere else he can access, instead.

She whines, her thighs trembling with the need to close around the tension building, and she fumbles with his trousers, shrugging them down with his boxers to free his tight bulge and take back some control. She clutches him, stroking his pulsing veins with a delectable smirk when he abruptly pulls her to the edge of the table with a primal growl. He thrusts inside her, and she swallows a gasp, not prepared for the intrusion but welcoming it all the same, reveling in his size as he stretches her, driving in and out, each shallow withdrawal making her dizzy and hot with need. She rocks her hips encouraging him deeper, swallowing a sob when he finally relents, pounding harder and slighting his thumb over her clit, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves. He adds more pressure, and she throws her head back as his rhythm disintegrates into untamed thrusts, hitting the exact right spot and making her cry out as she convulses around him.

He lets go at the same time, choked out of his faculties, and losing himself in a way that makes him want to stay gone, coasting off a high that ripples through him. They haven't uttered two words, and yet, his anger is extinguished, smothered by the only person he's ever wanted to feel like this with. He tries to compose himself—opens his mouth with the intention of telling her he's sorry, that he was acting like an ass because he's so in love with her he didn't know how to handle his emotions exploding to the surface, but he flounders in the silence, until she gently cups his cheek, taking the pressure off.

"I know." She smiles softly as he leans into her palm. Their love might be chaotic and complicated, even a disaster at times, but it's also strong, dependable and tender. An all-consuming, perfect mess that they've got forever to figure out. "Come on, let's clean up."

He doesn't let her move, his mouth twitching as he hikes her legs around him. "I've got a better idea." He lifts her off the table, fumbling a path to her bedroom, her laugh against his neck stirring a warmth that spreads through every crevice in his body. Now he has her, he's not letting go, and he doesn't see any point in them taking a shower because he doesn't plan on stopping at round one.